


Uncommon Wares

by mneiai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Harry Potter, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Magical Bullshit, made up horcrux lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Except, because it was Harry, the writing on his parchment was not so obvious. He stared in horror as the potion covering it moved downward, ink left in its place proclaiming Harry as “Magical object, horcrux” before it went on to list the other categories of “human, male….”“What…?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So while working on Apex Predators I had made some notes about possible horcrux lore, and especially a-human-as-a-horcrux lore, that I wouldn't be using in that fic because it would just get in the way. I wanted to use it, though, so here it is.
> 
> I decided not to tag ships until they're happening, but...probably HPLV eventually, unless I go for Barty/Harry or something.
> 
> Unbeta'd, not proofread, etc.

“After last week’s...incident,” the class shuddered, sinking deeper in their seats, remembering the screaming and smells of burning flesh all too well, “it has been decided that we will be focusing on...simpler potions, ones not even the simpletons in here could ruin.”

Snape’s sneer towards the Gryffindor side of the room was scathing, but Neville was still in the Hospital Wing and no one else dared look up. “Instructions are on the board. Get to work.”

Harry had been separated from the other Gryffindors last month, a random sadistic whim on Snape’s part, but he’d only been paired with Nott. They didn’t talk much, but worked well together, their individual talents harmonizing in surprising ways. And, well, Harry had been the one to pull Nott out of the path of destruction last week and may have maybe saved his life (but Harry DID have a people saving thing), which seemed to make Nott even more accepting of his Gryffindor-ish presence.

They both looked over the instructions and opened their books. Nott went to get the ingredients--there was a higher likelihood of going near Snape doing that, so it was safer for their work if he did it--while Harry setup the cauldron and their tools. 

The potion really was easy--all of the ingredients were benign, none of them could have any violent reactions to each other regardless of how they were prepared. A good choice, after last week, but they all knew it wasn’t Snape’s choice.

It was a general Categorization Potion, relatively useless since there were better potions and spells for the different things it could be used on. Mostly, the book said, it was used when someone was aware what they had wasn’t what it seemed to be, but they couldn’t reverse the spells or glamours on it without knowing WHAT it was.

They were the third or so pair to finish, Harry only relaxing when he realized the description in the book was exactly what they’d made. He’d never done this well when pairing up with Ron, even on the easy ones.

Nott took a vial of the potion, added a strand of his hair, mixed it around, then poured it onto the parchment in front of him. The potion swirled, then descended, leaving writing in its path--Human, male, wizard...and on and on, down to details like his ethnicity and age. Harry sighed, and went through the same motions.

Except, because it was Harry, the writing on his parchment was not so obvious. He stared in horror as the potion covering it moved downward, ink left in its place proclaiming Harry as “Magical object, horcrux” before it went on to list the other categories of “human, male….”

“What…?”

He’d almost missed Nott’s quick intake of breath, turned to see the wide eyed, panicky look on his usually laconic face just as Snape started to make his rounds. Harry gripped his wand, hand starting to shake, looked between his results and Nott’s again, and did the only thing he could think of--sliced off the top of his parchment with a basic cutting hex and shoved the scrap into his pocket.

When Snape reached their table, he didn’t pay enough attention to notice any discrepancies in Harry’s test, looking dead bored a he moved on. 

“Nott,” Harry hissed, eyes searching his face.

“I _can’t_. Don’t ask me.”

Biting his lip, Harry looked away, but didn’t try to ask again. 

When class ended he didn’t get rid of his parchment like the rest of the class. He slipped away when the other Gryffindor’s weren’t paying attention and headed to his dorm room, closing his drapes with a charm that made them impervious. No one would look for him in bed at this time of day, anyway, even if they noticed him missing during their free period.

He took the two pieces of parchment and mended them together, running his hands over the hierarchy of categories it had placed him in.

_Object_ , how was that possible? He was a _person_.

When he got near the bottom, he found another odd entry--his age wasn’t old enough. It was over a year too young. It was...it was Halloween night, 1981. 

He felt cold, dizzy. What did this mean? Even if this was some weird fluke, how did it have _that date_? And what did it mean that it thought he was born (...created? objects weren’t born, were they?) on that night? The night his parents died.

Shakily, his hand went to his scar. Was this because of the Killing Curse? No one else had ever survived it, did it turn a person into...something else? Whatever a “horcrux” was?

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on his options--tell someone, be seen as crazy (again) or Dark (again), or maybe something worse. He knew now he couldn’t trust Ron with something like this, and Hermione, well...she’d want to go to Dumbledore. And _Dumbledore_ wasn’t exactly being helpful, lately.

Regardless, he had to find out what a horcrux was. He bet it was something bad, from Nott’s reaction. That meant sneaking into the Restricted Section.

***  
Harry waited until late in the night to slip on his Invisibility Cloak and leave the dorms. The library was empty, as it usually was, no one around to see the hand sometimes peeking out of nothingness to grab a book.

Without knowing what a horcrux actually was (the irony of that potion giving him _more_ questions wasn’t lost on him) he decided to try to find out more about magical objects. About people _being_ magical objects.

There wasn’t a lot. Most of it was in books with magic in them so Dark it made his skin crawl just touching them. Humans weren’t meant to be objects, it was a profound, horrible thing to turn them into one. Normally it was a curse against an enemy--trapping them as a doll or figurine, turning them to statues, that sort of thing. So...it wasn’t a total stretch to imagine a backfired Avada Kedavra could cause it, maybe.

One book, towards the end of Harry’s search, gave him a slight pause. Apparently there’d been a few other cases of people turning others into objects--obsessive, possessive relationships where someone wanted to protect the other so badly they resorted to it. There were protections that couldn’t work on people, after all, that _could_ work on objects. Only two instances were vaguely mentioned, though, and there was nothing about horcruxes. 

It did give him an idea and when he finally got back to bed he carefully cast a fire resistance spell on his finger. Normally it wouldn’t work on living flesh, it had to be cast on someone’s clothing. Then he conjured a small flame and held it to the finger--nothing, not even the feeling of heat. He watched it carefully, moving it along--when it got to the point beyond his charm, he felt the flame, felt the beginnings of a burn, and stopped, blowing it out.

_Had_ it been the Killing Curse? What if this is what his mother had actually done to him, to protect him? Could she have dabbled in magic that Dark?

***

Nott wouldn’t look at him. At first Harry hadn’t noticed because, well, it was Nott, and he wasn’t the most social person. But during the next Potions class it became obvious. 

None of the other Slytherins treated him differently, so he hoped Nott hadn’t told anyone else. 

Harry started searching the castle during the night, after that. There had to be more books, somewhere, Dark ones hidden from the students and the professors. Maybe Riddle had left some behind, or some other student, or Slytherin himself. _Something_ that would mention it.

He never found any, but he did run into Moody. They stared at each other, Moody’s eye gazing straight through the cloak, Harry standing still and worried.

“Well, if you’re up this late, you can join me for tea.”

Harry went, slipping the cloak off slowly as they reached Moody’s office, shoving it in his pocket--next to the parchment he was always keeping on his person.

“That worried about the task?”

Blinking, reminded for the first time in days of the tournament, Harry shook his head. “No, uh, just...something else.”

Moody tilted his head to the side, looking him up and down. “Something else? Worse than whatever the next task is?”

“It’s...yes.”

Could he trust Moody? He was supposed to be Dumbledore’s man, but he’d seemed...different, somehow. Not the way the other people in Dumbledore’s circle seemed to be around him. And he cast the _Unforgiveables_ in front of a bunch of kids, so he had to be more comfortable with Dark Magic than the average person.

“I’m trying to find out a meaning of a word. But I can’t find any references to it.”

“A word? I’m guessing this isn’t something that would be in a dictionary.”

Harry gnawed on the inside of his lip, shaking his head. “Sir, it’s...I think it has to do with Dark Magic.”

Moody leaned closer. “Are you in trouble, Potter?”

“I honestly don’t know. I….” He didn’t have many better options, he knew. Moody had been helpful, a good teacher, concerned about Voldemort’s return. “Here.” He took out the parchment and handed it over. “That’s my results. That’s...that’s how magic sees me.”

Moody was still for a long time, every part of him locked onto the words at the top of the parchment. Then his gaze travelled down, over the other results, invariably drawn to that horrible age section.

When his wand suddenly appeared in his hand, pointed at Harry, Harry had just enough time to scramble backwards, knocking his chair over, fumbling towards the door. The spell still hit him, and...nothing happened. At least, not until he saw himself in a shiny object near the door, a glow surrounding his whole body, the light brightest at his scar.

“Sit back down, Potter. I’m not going to hurt you.”

There was such passion behind those words, it confused Harry--of course Moody wouldn’t want a student to think he’d hurt him, but that sounded...different.

He righted the chair, sitting down, sullenly watching the professor across his desk.

Moody seemed to take some time to collect his thoughts. “What did Dumbledore tell you happened that night? The night you got the scar?”

“Just...mostly what was already in the books. About the Killing Curse, about it destroying Voldemort’s body.”

“Mostly?”

Harry swallowed. “He said that Voldemort...left a piece of his magic behind in me. That’s why I can speak Parseltongue. Why I have a connection to him.”

The look that crossed Moody’s face looked almost manic. “That’s basically what a horcrux is, Potter. You’ve got a piece of the Dark Lord inside of you.”

Better and worse than what Harry had been hoping. Technically, it hadn’t changed any of the information he had, just given a name to it. “How do I get it out?”

Moody frowned and slowly, telegraphing each move, cast another series of spells on Harry he couldn’t begin to identify. “Even if you could somehow remove it, that wouldn’t change what you were. Magic would still see you as a horcrux’s vessel, just an _empty_ one.”

“But how can I--I don’t _want_ to be a-a bloody _object_.”

“We can’t always get what we want, Potter. You need to accept this, and start planning around it, because I can guarantee your life just got a hell of a lot more dangerous.”

That stopped Harry as he was working his way up to a rant. “...What? Will Voldemort try something quicker, if he finds out?”

“The Dark Lord’s not your problem anymore, Potter. In fact, when he finds out about this, he’ll probably want to _protect_ you. No, who you’ll need to watch out for now is people like Dumbledore--you’re surrounded by the Dark Lord’s enemies and you _have a piece of him inside you_.”

“But,” Harry took a deep breath, “Dumbledore already knows.”

“Not to this extent. He may _suspect_ , but that’s not the same as _knowing_.”

“He knows that Voldemort left something of himself behind, but doesn’t know I’m a horcrux….Sir...what’s different about a horcrux?”

Moody stood, coming around the desk, staring down at Harry. “How do you think Voldemort survived?”

Harry rubbed his scar, eyes wide. “Me?”

“No. Not _just_ you. He’d have a planned horcrux out there, somewhere he’d purposefully put a piece of himself so he’d be anchored to the land of the living. But you’re one of those, now.”

Dread welled up in Harry as he followed that explanation to its natural conclusion. “...Voldemort can’t die unless I do.”

“And anyone who wants him dead…” Moody prompted, drawing Harry’s attention fully to him again.

“...Will want me dead, too.”

Moody moved on, around Harry, to a cabinet. Harry’s dread was turning into renewed panic as he realized he was trapped in the room with a former Auror--one of Voldemort’s enemies--who just found out about this. He didn’t _want_ to die, but he had no hope of fighting Moody, not on his own terf, behind his own wards.

There was a noise, like something falling, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. At least there was some irony in this, in his death being something that brought Voldemort closer to dying for real.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped, eyes flying open. When Harry looked at the hand, it wasn’t right--smaller, thinner, younger.

“Calm down, Harry.” The voice was one he’d heard before, somewhere, but certainly not Moody’s. “I would never harm one of my Lord’s horcruxes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry pulled away, falling from the chair and scrambling back against the desk. “Who are you?”

The man smirked. He was wearing Moody’s clothing, which were hanging from his body like Harry’s hand-me-downs from Dudley, but otherwise looked nothing like him. “Barty Crouch, Jr.”

“You--you’re supposed to be dead.”

He simply shrugged, cautiously approaching. “It’s complicated.” 

He held out a hand to help Harry up, but Harry just stared at it. Finally, Barty sighed, crouching down beside him and regarding him with dark eyes.

“It’s a good thing we found this out when we did, Potter. I’ve got some plans to readjust.”

“ _You_ submitted my name to the Goblet?”

“Of course.”

Harry scowled. “To kill me?”

“No, well...not right away. My master would certainly have tried to kill you after our plans were completed.”

Closing his eyes, Harry thought back to what he knew about his condition so far and what Crouch had added to his knowledge. “...He won’t just let me go, will he?”

Crouch seemed to hesitate for a moment. “The Dark Lord is quite...protective of what is his.”

Harry snorted. “Possessive, you mean.”

“That, too. But,” Crouch stretched the word out, waiting until Harry’s attention was back on him to say more, “keeping you around will be difficult at first. There’s a lot to do and we don’t have the resources we had before, not yet.”

“Why are you trying to comfort me?” Harry watched him, suspicions racing through his head.

Barty chuckled, holding his hands palm up as if to show he wasn’t hiding anything. “It’s in my master’s best interest, of course. And will save me a _lot_ of work I don’t really want to do. If you play it right, you could convince him Hogwarts is a good enough place to ‘store’ you for the time being and continue living your life as you have been.”

Harry grimaced, wondering what it meant to play Voldemort. He’d probably have to be nice, maybe act submissive like he’d seen Pettigrew do in his visions. After everything Voldemort had done to him, knowing he’d have to act like he _liked_ him wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“When can I...when can I speak to him?”

Crouch grinned, popping up to stand beside Harry and offer his hand again. “It’s a Friday night, no one is going to notice if you’re out of the castle.”

“ _Now_? Shouldn’t you _warn_ him, first?”

“It would be a waste of time to go, tell him, and then have to arrange to bring you later. He _hates_ when his followers waste his time.” 

Crouch wandered back over to the cabinet he’d set Moody’s gear on, before grimacing and taking a swig from his flask. After he was completely back in his cover, he motioned for Harry to follow him. 

“Put your cloak on and stay right behind me.”

This, Harry knew, was a bad idea. But what Crouch had said made a lot of sense and honestly he was just...tired. Even if he was going to his death, it might be better to get it over with than drag it out for the rest of the Tournament. 

***

As soon as they had passed through Hogwart’s wards, Crouch had gripped Harry’s arm and used a portkey. They landed in a dusty, mold-riddled drawing room, the only sounds around them the creaking of the rundown manor Voldemort had settled in.

“This way. And remember...you want to stay on his good side.”

“Why do you care if he hurts me?”

“What can I say? You’re one of the few students worth teaching in your House, it would be a shame to lose that.”

Harry blinked, his steps slowing as he thought that through, meaning he had to scurry to catch up to Crouch as he reached a door. 

“Stay out here, we’ll call for you when he’s ready to see you.”

And just like that, Harry was left alone in a creepy hallway, long minutes passing him by as his panic had a chance to grow. By the time the door opened again, he’d almost convinced himself to flee--he might not have been able to find his way back to Hogwarts, but if he could get to a Muggle home he could call the Grangers or someone for help.

But the door opened wider and there was Voldemort, in his twisted, creepy childlike body, staring straight at Harry. For once, it didn’t make his scar hurt. Instead there was an unsettling pleasantness to it.

§ _Step closer_ ,§ Voldemort instructed, and Harry found it so easy to do as he was told. Soon he was across the room, nearly within touching distance of Voldemort. § _I see it now, I_ feel _it now. How could I have missed such a thing?_ §

Harry glanced towards Crouch, but there was no acknowledgement of the words on his face, only a sickening worship in his eyes as he gazed at Voldemort. Looking back, Harry finally realized Voldemort had been speaking in Parseltongue. 

He gulped.

§ _Closer, my Horcrux._ § Harry took another step and at a gesture from Voldemort leaned down, shuddering as those tiny clawed fingers traced the air above his scar, so very close to touching. § _Yessss, I see you now._ §

“Crouch told me...he told me that….”

“That you have a piece of me cradled within you? So tenderly cared for in my absence?”

Harry held back a grimace, reminding himself he had to try not to offend Voldemort if he wanted to get back to Hogwarts. “...Yeah. That.”

“And you’d like to know what that means, for you.” Harry nodded. “You look so worried, my soul, but you need not. Lord Voldemort shall care for you, shall not let anymore harm befall you.”

“But you wanted me dead just-just hours ago.”

Something dark flashed through Voldemort’s expression and Harry bit his lip, forcing himself to shut up. 

“The circumstances of your creation were unusual, had I known what you were, I would have never continued to hunt you. I wished to kill the Boy Who Lived, but that boy had only ever been an illusion.”

Harry frowned, wondering what that actually meant. He didn’t ask, though, didn’t want to risk Voldemort’s wrath so early in this. 

“Barty, bring the goblet, and the athame.”

Despite the movement around the room, Harry kept his eyes locked on Voldemort. He knew where the real threat would come from, after all. 

Soon a goblet was set in between them, a small dagger handed to Voldemort. “Hold out your arm, dear soul.”

Harry reeled back. “What for?”

“Why, for your blood, of course.” Voldemort laughed at his expression. “Just a little, just enough. Once I can touch you, I can settle the magic within you so you’ll never be pained by our connection again.”

That was...tempting. Harry didn’t exactly want to lose his mother’s protection, but Voldemort’s body going up in smoke any time they touched would be pretty inconvenient, considering it wouldn’t ever kill him. He pushed up the sleeve of his robe, cautiously offering his wrist. Voldemort made only a small cut, ordering Crouch to heal it after just a tiny mouthful worth of blood had filled the vessel. 

Harry watched as Voldemort cast a spell on it, then another, clearly tiring himself but continuing despite it. Finally, he held it to his lips and drank Harry’s blood down.

Since coming to the magical world, Harry always kind of expected things like this to be flashy, to have a noticeable effect. But he was also learning that sometimes the most powerful magics were the quiet ones.

After a minute, Voldemort reached out for him again, claws brushing his cheek, then hand gripping his chin and pulling him forward. There was no pain, just a feeling in his mind that reminded Harry of when Crookshanks, in a good mood, would rub his soft fur against Harry’s arm.

Voldemort’s skin was dry, scaly, almost painful as it caressed Harry’s face, but he remembered Crouch’s words and didn’t complain. He’d been through a lot worse with the Dursleys, without being able to speak up, this was basically nothing.

§ _Soon, my soul, I shall be returned to my former glory and you shall want for nothing,_ § Voldemort whispered, as if his words would bring comfort to Harry.

Harry’s eyes flicked around the room, before settling back on Voldemort. § _What do you want from me?_ §

Voldemort seemed surprised by the question, chuckling as his thumb traced Harry’s lightning bolt scar. § _Why, for you to be safe, and sound, and content._ §

§ _...Does that mean you’ll let me go back to Hogwarts?_ §

The scowl Harry expected, so he didn’t let himself react to it. § _Is that truly what you wish? You are at risk there, if Dumbledore were to find out what you are…._ §

Harry grimaced. § _But until he knows, is there anywhere safer than right there? Hidden in plain sight?_ §

That seemed to appeal, Voldemort giggling at the idea. He sat back in his little throne, hands falling from Harry, and motioned to Crouch to approach. “You will finish out the year, then we will decide on more...permanent placement for you, dear soul. Barty, return him to the school, do not allow any harm to come to him.”

“My Lord.” Crouch gave a deep bow before pointing Harry towards the door.

They didn’t speak until they were out of the building, Crouch looking around them as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment--or maybe just falling back into his Moody persona, Harry wasn’t sure.

“Good job in there, kid. You keep up that meek, quiet attitude and you shouldn’t have much to worry about.”

Harry scowled. “This is just for now, Crouch. Just until...I’ve got a handle on all of this.”

“You’re adorable. I don’t know how I didn’t see it, before.”

Despite knowing he was no longer threatened by Voldemort, and Crouch’s assurances to help him cheat through the Final Task, Harry went to bed that night in a foul mood. Voldemort would see him as possession, a pet at best, and Harry had no idea how he was going to escape that.


End file.
